


One And One (Make One)

by luninosity



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Canada, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Moving In Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-15
Updated: 2012-10-15
Packaged: 2017-11-16 09:38:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/538084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luninosity/pseuds/luninosity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quite old, and totally AU now, of course! But anyway: Jensen thinks he wants to move out. He doesn’t. Also, Canada is cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One And One (Make One)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from The Who’s “Bargain.” Basically, I discovered this on a flash drive, read it over, and still kind of liked it, so...

“Did you mean that?”  
             
It’s Sunday morning, or Sunday afternoon actually, both of them still wandering around the house in old jeans and ancient t-shirts, Jensen’s only halfway through his second cup of coffee, and Jared asks the question like he expects Jensen to know precisely what he’s talking about. Jensen supposes, in Jared’s head, that this makes sense somehow.  
             
He puts down the coffee cup, reluctantly. “Did I mean what?”  
             
“You know. At the convention. What you said.”  
             
“That I have better hair than you?”  
             
“No. And you wish. I meant that other thing you said. About you-moving-out-and-not-living-with-me-anymore.” The last words aren’t quite clear, because Jared seems to be trying to speak them as fast as he can, like they might scorch his tongue on the way out. As a finale, Jared puts an entire strawberry-covered waffle in his mouth and then looks down at his empty plate as if wondering how it got that way. Jensen stares, fascinated.

“Jared,” he says finally, after Jared has chewed for a full minute without meeting his gaze, “you know this wasn’t going to be permanent, right? I mean, we’re both adults, we’ve got our own lives, and it’s been great, but...” He tries for a casual laugh. It’s hard when Jared’s not looking at him. “What did you expect, that we’d still be living together when we’re eighty?”  
             
And then Jared _does_ look at him, and the realization hits Jensen like rock salt from a shotgun, straight into his chest, because there’s no way Jared has been able to hide anything from him, ever, and he’s not hiding anything now, it’s all right there, all the hurt and disappointment and sadness and desire out in the open. Jensen can’t say anything, and he can’t look away, either.  
             
Jared swallows, like he’s going to say something, and then blinks, finally freeing Jensen to move. So he does, and flees the scene. And then flees the house entirely.  
   
Three hours later, he’s sitting in a park somewhere in the middle of Vancouver, slowly freezing to death because he forgot to grab a jacket, and he can’t stop thinking about _that look_ on Jared’s face.  
             
He’s seen Jared sad before, worried, hurt, even disappointed; like he told the fans, he’s got stories about Jared in every mood they could want, every variation of color in the shiny, sparkly, Jared rainbow. Up until today, he would have said that he knew Jared better than anyone. But he’s never seen _that look_ before.  
             
And it’s Jensen’s fault.  
             
That’s the thought that keeps circling around to smack him off-balance, just when he thinks he might be ready to go back and talk things over. He’d made the comment so casually, something that he’d been kicking around in his brain, not necessarily because he wasn’t happy living with Jared, but just because he’d thought, two guys, edging into their thirties, and the show wasn’t going to be around forever, so it made sense for him to start looking for a place.  
             
Apparently it hadn’t made sense to Jared.  
   
Jensen sighs. He’s likely to be haunted by _that look_ for the rest of his life, at this rate.  
   
At the heart of it all, really, is this: he hurt Jared, without even knowing it, and that’s just killing him, because Jared’s his best friend, his partner in practical jokes and the pain of early mornings after late-night shoots, the guy who’s always been there to pick Jensen up or to give him space, to fend off photographers and paparazzi, to be the first one to laugh at whatever lame joke Jensen offers up on any given day. Jared’s always giving, always reaching out, always so genuinely interested in making other people happy; that’s one of the reasons Jensen’s always been fascinated by him, that complete and honest openness.  
   
If anyone else had hurt Jared, Jensen would have been out there trying to tear that person limb from limb. He knows that like he knows his own heartbeat.  
   
Except he’s the one that hurt Jared. And then ran away.  
   
Which was not, he has to admit, the smartest thing to do in winter in Vancouver, because it could lead to a painful case of frostbite, aside from all the other complications. Jensen wiggles his toes inside his old sneakers. They still move. The question is, does he want to?  
   
The wind picks up, and he shivers in his t-shirt, and thinks maybe he should go home.  
   
And then he stops, because suddenly it’s just that simple.  
   
When he thinks of home, he thinks of Jared.  
   
Home isn’t some unseen empty designer space waiting for him to fill it. Home is Jared’s dogs, huge and hairy and loud, shedding dog hair all over the couch and dog toys all over the floor. Home is Jared’s shoes blocking the door, and the familiar scent of coffee in the air, because Jared gets up first and always turns it on so it’ll be ready when Jensen gets around to waking up. Home is beating Jared in satisfying ways at various video games, but then losing at the last minute because Jensen can’t help cracking up at Jared’s increasingly agitated flailing. Home is just Jared, all comfortable and warm and always there. And nowhere else is going to be home without Jared, and Jensen thinks he probably should have known that, should have seen it when he thought of moving out as something that he _should_ do instead of something he _wanted_ to do.  
   
He should probably go home and tell Jared about this revelation, assuming his feet still work and haven’t frozen solid by now.  
   
He has no idea how that conversation’s going to go, considering the less-than-stellar grace of his departure. But he’s going to hope that Jared will at least listen to him, based on Jared’s innate good nature and kindheartedness. Jensen’s not above exploiting those tendencies, especially if it’ll get him a chance to explain.  
   
He stands up, jingling his keys in the pocket of his jeans, and heads for the house. For home.  
   
When he gets to the door, really wishing now that he’d been smart enough to put on better shoes because the frostbite joke is starting to get serious, he doesn’t even get the chance to knock. Jared yanks the door open, hauls him inside, and shoves him up against the wall, and from the look on his face, Jensen’s going to need to do some serious explaining.  
   
Jensen opens his mouth, but Jared jumps in over him. “Where were you?” he demands, arms windmilling around. “What happened?” His hair is disheveled and sticking out like he’s been running his fingers through it nonstop, and he’s fully dressed, down to coat and boots, and Jensen realizes that Jared must have been ready to go out looking for him. Even though Jared’s still yelling at him, that thought sends a little spark of warmth through his whole cold body.  
   
“—three hours! You didn’t have your phone! Anything could have happened to you!” Jensen sneaks a peek under Jared’s waving arm, and sees that, yes, his phone is indeed still sitting on the coffee table, where he’d left it in his previous panicked rush out of the house.  
   
“Do you know how worried I was? I called Kripke, for God’s sake!”  
   
Jared in full rant is pretty impressive, Jensen thinks. And also kind of distracting, because, well, that’s a lot of muscles backing him into the wall, and Jared’s angry face directly in his. Which probably shouldn’t be as interesting as Jensen’s body suddenly thinks it is, and that’s got to be some kind of testament to the fatedness of this whole thing, because Jensen has never even thought about his co-star in that way before, or men for that matter, but he’s apparently gone from obliviousness to lust in just over three hours. He thinks that has to be some kind of record.  
   
“You aren’t even listening to me!”  
   
Jared glares, momentarily silent with exasperation, and Jensen opens his mouth before he has a clear idea of what he plans to say. What comes out is, “I don’t want to move out.”  
   
Jared blinks a couple of times. “What?”  
   
“I don’t want to move out,” Jensen says again. “I want to live here with you and clean up after your dogs and wake up to you making me coffee every morning. Until we’re eighty.”  
   
Jared backs up a step, staring at him. Jensen says, “I’m sorry.” It hurts to apologize, to keep looking at Jared, but Jensen wants to make sure Jared knows he’s serious. Besides, he deserves the pain anyway, for hurting Jared earlier.  
   
Jared’s face is unreadable, so Jensen says it again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t...”and then stops, because there aren’t enough words for the enormity of the things he didn’t know or do. And then he just says, “Jared,” because he doesn’t know what else to say, and finally looks down, at his feet, now leaving slowly spreading damp spots on the carpet.  
   
There’s a pause, and then he feels a touch on his face, lifting his chin. Jared’s hand, Jared’s fingers, warm against his skin, the way Jared always feels. Jared looks him right in the eyes, and says, “Did you mean that?” in a voice that only shakes a little.  
   
Jensen nods, and watches as the sun comes up behind Jared’s eyes.  
   
The next few minutes are a blur of action, as Jared reaches for Jensen’s hand, touches his fingers, and curses so loudly Jensen thinks his Mama should be calling from Texas to scold him at any minute. The next thing Jensen knows, Jared has actually picked him up and bodily transported him to the couch, covering him in blankets and muttering darkly about frostbite and hypothermia. Jensen thinks that he should probably be protesting this, but it’s kind of nice.  
   
Jared starts a fire, pours hot chocolate, makes him put on two sweaters and two pairs of socks, and even brings out a pair of gloves, at which point Jensen says, “I’m _fine_ , Jared,” and Jared sits down at the end of the couch like a puppet with cut strings, looking a little pathetic. “But I want to take care of you,” he says. “You were gone. And I couldn’t find you.”  
   
Okay, Jensen thinks. He can connect that Jared-logic easily enough, because he understands. But if this will make Jared feel better, he’s got a better idea.  
   
“You know what would help more?” he says, with his best imitation of Jared’s patented puppydog face. “If you came over here next to me.”  
   
Jared hesitates, so Jensen says, “I’m still a little cold. And you’re really warm.”  
   
This gets Jared to come over, as Jensen knew it would. Jared wraps those octopus arms around him and leans up against him, and Jensen wonders why he’s been so dense all these years, because Jared feels really good there. Plus, of course, it’s warmer.  
   
He feels more than hears Jared sigh. “Jensen?”  
   
“Yeah?”  
   
“You want this, right? I mean you and me. Us. I mean, you never—and I knew you didn’t, but now you do, and it’s kind of all of a sudden. You know?”  
   
Jensen thinks it’s a good thing he has years of practice deciphering Jared-speak, because it’s highly unlikely that normal people would be able to decode _that_ one.  
   
Instead of answering, he wriggles around in his blanket heap until he’s facing Jared, and then, before he has time to think about it or talk himself out of it, leans forward and presses his lips to Jared’s.  
   
It’s not the most perfect kiss; Jensen’s never done this before, the position’s awkward, and Jared tastes like chapstick and nervousness. But it’s exactly right anyway.  
   
Everything’s exactly right anyway.  
   
When they pull apart, Jared blinks dazedly at him, and says, “Oh.”  
   
Jensen raises an eyebrow. “Oh? I kiss you, and that’s all you have to say?”  
   
“Hmph,” Jared grumbles. “Just wait until you aren’t freezing to death. Then I’ll have plans for you.” The leer that accompanies this statement is so ridiculous that Jensen snorts into his topmost blanket, and Jared says, “Gross.”  
   
“Bite me.”  
   
“Maybe later.”  
   
“Hm. Okay.”  
   
“Did you mean _that_?”  
   
And this time, Jensen knows exactly what he’s answering when he says, “Sure.”


End file.
